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The house in which they had been hiding since the fall was not particularly large. There was a living room with a fireplace, a kitchenette with two hotplates, a small bathroom with a shower and only one bedroom they had to share.
On the first night, Hannibal slept on the couch because he insisted. Will stared at the ceiling for two hours before he stood up and crept through the dark hall like a thief. He stopped in the doorway. Hannibal was still awake, as he had guessed.
The couch was too small, Hannibal's legs were dangling over the armrest in the air. The position was undoubtedly painful for his abdominal wound. Will could see that he was in pain. God knew he had a lot of pain himself. His cheek throbed and his shoulder was shouting along in chorus. He could hardly move his arm. Perhaps he would never be able to move it again, at least not the way he used to.
Tiny beads of sweat glittered in the light of the flickering fire on Hannibal's forehead and his cheek. After a while he turned his head and looked at Will in silent curiosity.
"That's ridiculous. Come to bed. It's big enough for both of us."
Will didn’t wait for an answer. He went back to the bedroom. It lasted longer than he thought until Hannibal appeared. His breathing was difficult, the little journey had cost him strength. Will could only hear him, he was lying on his good side with his back to the door.
"Maybe-"
"Just shut up and lie down."
Hannibal obeyed. The mattress gave way under his weight, as he lay down and slipped under the blanket a little wryly. They didn’t touch, but Hannibal's body was close, radiated warmth, which was very welcome to Will. He was cold. He could feel Hannibal's breath on his neck. Small, heavy clouds, which crumbled on his skin. It tickled. Time stretched between them, in which the silence grew louder. Will could feel Hannibal's eyes.
"Stop staring at me."
The looks were like cool fingertips that ghosted over his skin, impossible to ignore. Hannibal held the air--two or three heartbeats long. When he spoke, his voice sounded remote.
"I don’t know if I can."
Will knew what he meant, but he asked anyway, because it was the first, proper conversation they had since the fall. "Why don’t you know if you can?"
"How am I supposed to know you're still there when I close my eyes?"
Hannibal took a slow breath to continue. Will could hear how he swallowed, a dry click loud in the dark. He tried again, quieter than before, just a whisper.
"How do I know you're real?"
There was more he wanted to say. The weight of many unspoken things spread between them. Will turned halfway around and looked over his shoulder. Hannibal's figure was no more than a schematic outline in the darkness.
Will reached for Hannibal's arm, pulled it around his waist, entwined their fingers and pushed Hannibal’s palm to his chest, right under his fast-beating heart. Hannibal gasped, became quite still. Will's chest lifted and lowered three times, before Hannibal allowed himself to take a breath again.
"See?" whispered Will and Hannibal nodded slowly.
He saw.
He felt.
"Good."
Will turned again, but didn’t let go of Hannibal's hand. It stayed where it was and carried the rhythm of his heartbeat until Hannibal relaxed. The warmth of the hand on his chest was soothing. Their fingers parted loosely. The tingling in his neck remained, and if Will hadn’t been too weak for it, he might have allowed it to spread throughout his body. Will sighed.
"Now close your eyes. I’m tired."
Hannibal gave a short, muttering sound and curled around him like a cat. He pressed flush against Will’s back, nose buried deep in his neck. It wasn’t the perfect position for his shoulder, but Will didn’t mind. Somehow he thought it was fitting, that their happiness was a little bit painful.
Hannibal finally closed his eyes and Will fell asleep.